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Seokjin was five years old when he realized people expected him to make them laugh. He didn’t understand it at first, but he caught on quickly—the glint in his mother’s eyes when he mimicked his favorite cartoon character, the way his father’s tired face softened when Seokjin turned a mistake into a joke. He learned to read the room like a performer, studying the rise and fall of laughter, the little cues that told him what people needed.
By the time he entered elementary school, Seokjin’s charm was his armor. Teachers praised his wit; classmates gravitated toward him, but no one stayed too close. He kept them at a comfortable distance with his jokes, afraid they’d see past the shine to the quiet boy underneath—the one who stared at the ceiling at night, wondering if he was enough just as he was.
For Jungkook, silence was a fortress. He built it piece by piece, beginning with the nights his father’s voice shook the house, each word a crack of thunder. His mother, frail and distant, floated through the chaos like a ghost, her presence a whisper instead of a shield. When Jungkook cried, his father mocked him, a cruel grin twisting his features. “What’s wrong with you? Toughen up.”
By the time he started school, Jungkook had mastered the art of invisibility. He rarely spoke, his gaze fixed on the floor. Teachers wrote him off as shy; classmates ignored him. But inside, his mind was alive—a vivid swirl of images, ideas, and questions he didn’t know how to share.
Seokjin’s childhood was, by all appearances, ordinary. His parents doted on him, though they pushed him to excel. “You have so much potential, Jin,” his mother would say, her hands warm on his shoulders. “Don’t waste it.” He didn’t resent the pressure—it came from love—but he often felt like he was living in a role written for him.
In middle school, he discovered acting. For the first time, he felt a thrill that wasn’t tied to pleasing someone else. Onstage, he could become anyone—a knight, a thief, a hero. It was freeing in a way he couldn’t explain. But even as he excelled, he wondered if anyone would ever want to know the real Seokjin, the boy beneath the performance.
At nine years old, Jungkook found escape in art. He filled notebooks with sketches, his pencil scratching furiously late into the night while his parents fought in the next room. He lost himself in the worlds he created, where emotions were simple, and people were kind.
But his father dismissed his passion as childish, and his mother’s indifference stung worse than her words ever could. “You’ll grow out of it,” she said, brushing past him one evening as he showed her a drawing. Jungkook didn’t argue. He simply folded the sketchbook shut and hid it under his bed.
Seokjin was seventeen when he was scouted by BigHit Entertainment. It was unexpected, a chance encounter while he was walking home from school. At first, he hesitated—the entertainment world felt like a gamble, and he didn’t want to disappoint his parents by pursuing something so uncertain. But the scout’s words stuck with him: “You have a unique presence. I think you could be something special.”
For the first time, someone saw potential in him that wasn’t tied to his charm or his ability to make others laugh. He agreed to audition.
Jungkook was eleven when he first saw the newest K-Pop trainees on TV. The segment was brief—a glimpse into the grueling life of aspiring idols—but it sparked something in him. He didn’t fully understand why, but he was drawn to the idea of becoming someone larger than life.
By thirteen, he had convinced his parents to let him audition for BigHit. His father’s approval was begrudging, his mother’s support absent. But Jungkook didn’t care. He threw himself into preparation, practicing late into the night and studying videos of his idols.
When he walked into the audition room, his heart pounded so loudly he thought it might drown out the music. But as he sang, his voice steady and clear, he felt something shift. For the first time in his life, he felt seen.
Seokjin joined BigHit as the oldest trainee, a fact that came with its own set of challenges. While the younger boys bonded over shared struggles and teenage antics, Seokjin often found himself on the outside, unsure how to bridge the gap. He compensated by taking on the role of caretaker, cooking meals and offering encouragement when the others were homesick or overwhelmed.
But late at night, when the dorm was quiet, the doubts crept in. He worried he wouldn’t measure up, that his age and inexperience would hold the group back.
Jungkook’s transition to trainee life was jarring. At home, he had learned to keep his emotions locked away, but in the dorm, the other boys wore their feelings openly. It was overwhelming—the laughter, the teasing, the occasional arguments. Jungkook retreated into himself, observing from the sidelines.
The dance practices were grueling, the vocal lessons even more so. But Jungkook thrived under the pressure. His natural talent set him apart, earning him praise from the trainers. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t quite belong.
The others seemed so at ease with each other, while Jungkook struggled to connect. His insecurities whispered lies in the back of his mind: You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.
For both Seokjin and Jungkook, the road to debut was paved with challenges and self-doubt. Seokjin carried the weight of being the eldest, the one the others looked to for guidance. Jungkook, still a child in many ways, battled the scars of his past and the overwhelming expectations of his present.
They hadn’t met yet, but their paths were inching closer. Each step brought them nearer to the moment their lives would intertwine, setting the stage for a bond neither of them could have anticipated.
---
The BigHit practice room was stifling that day, the air thick with humidity despite the whirring fans stationed in the corners. Seokjin stood by the mirror, wiping sweat from his forehead. His muscles ached from the choreography they’d been rehearsing all morning, and he was starting to regret the second helping of kimchi stew he'd eaten the night before.
The sound of the door creaking open drew his attention. A boy stood in the doorway, his frame slight, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts like he’d just rolled out of bed. He looked impossibly young—barely a teenager. His wide eyes darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar faces and the walls plastered with motivational posters.
Seokjin straightened, the eldest hyung instinctively taking over. He set down his water bottle and walked over, offering a small smile. “You must be Jungkook,” he said, his tone gentle.
The boy nodded but didn’t speak, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“I’m Seokjin,” he continued, crouching slightly to meet Jungkook’s eyes. “But you can call me hyung, okay?”
Jungkook’s lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn’t know how. He nodded again, clutching the strap of his backpack like it was a lifeline.
---
The first few weeks were a blur of introductions, practice schedules, and awkward meals in the dorm’s cramped kitchen. Jungkook was quiet—painfully so—and Seokjin often found himself watching the boy from a distance, trying to figure him out.
Jungkook kept to himself, his headphones a near-constant presence as he worked through dance routines or sat scribbling in a notebook during breaks. He rarely joined in on the others’ jokes or conversations, but Seokjin noticed the way his shoulders tensed when someone tried to include him.
One evening, after an especially long practice session, Seokjin found Jungkook sitting alone on the couch in the dorm’s living room. The boy was hunched over, his knees drawn to his chest as he stared at the blank TV screen.
“Hey,” Seokjin said softly, careful not to startle him. “Why aren’t you asleep? You’ve got school tomorrow, don’t you?”
Jungkook shrugged, his eyes flicking up briefly before returning to the floor.
Seokjin hesitated, then sat down beside him. The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, Jungkook spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
Jungkook’s fingers tightened around the hem of his sweatpants. “They don’t like me.”
Seokjin frowned. “Your classmates?”
Jungkook nodded, his shoulders curling inward like he was trying to make himself smaller.
“Why would you think that?”
“They just don’t.”
Seokjin wanted to push, to tell Jungkook he was wrong, but he held back. He’d learned by now that the boy needed time to open up, that rushing him would only make him retreat further.
Instead, he leaned back against the couch, his head tipping toward the ceiling. “You know, I didn’t really fit in at school either,” he said, keeping his tone casual.
Jungkook glanced at him, the faintest hint of curiosity in his expression.
“People thought I was too much,” Seokjin continued. “Too loud, too goofy. They laughed at my jokes, but they never really wanted to know me.”
Jungkook’s brow furrowed, his fingers loosening slightly. “But you’re...you.”
Seokjin chuckled. “What does that mean?”
“You’re...cool,” Jungkook mumbled, his cheeks tinged pink.
Seokjin grinned, warmth blooming in his chest. “Thanks, Jungkookie. But you know, you’re pretty cool too.”
Jungkook didn’t respond, but Seokjin caught the way his posture relaxed just a little, his knees dropping slightly from his chest.
---
Over time, a routine developed between them. Seokjin made it his mission to look out for Jungkook, whether it was waking him up for school, helping him with his homework, or sneaking extra snacks into his bag during long practice days.
Jungkook, for his part, began to open up—slowly, cautiously. He started sitting closer to the others during meals, joining in on their laughter even if he didn’t say much. But it was with Seokjin that he seemed the most comfortable, his walls lowering inch by inch.
One rainy afternoon, Seokjin found Jungkook sitting on the windowsill in the dorm’s shared room, his notebook balanced on his knees. The boy was drawing, his pencil moving in quick, precise strokes.
“That’s really good,” Seokjin said, leaning over to get a better look.
Jungkook startled, his hand jerking and smudging the page. He frowned, his gaze dropping to the ruined drawing.
“Sorry,” Seokjin said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Jungkook shook his head, his fingers brushing over the smudge. “It’s fine.”
“Can I see?”
Jungkook hesitated, then held out the notebook. The sketch was of a bird mid-flight, its wings spread wide and feathers detailed with painstaking precision.
“Wow,” Seokjin said, genuine admiration in his voice. “You’re amazing, Jungkookie.”
Jungkook looked away, his ears turning red. “It’s not that good.”
“Are you kidding? This is incredible.” Seokjin ruffled the boy’s hair, earning a faint smile. “You’re really talented, you know that?”
Jungkook didn’t respond, but Seokjin caught the way his grip on the notebook loosened, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
---
As the months went on, their bond deepened. Seokjin became Jungkook’s unofficial guardian, the one he turned to when the world felt too loud or overwhelming. He wiped Jungkook’s tears when homesickness got the better of him, listened patiently when the boy struggled to put his thoughts into words, and defended him fiercely when anyone dared to criticize him.
But there were moments—fleeting, barely noticeable—when Seokjin’s heart would skip a beat. A lingering glance, the way Jungkook’s eyes lit up when he talked about his passions, the quiet strength in his voice when he stood up for himself.
He pushed those feelings aside, convincing himself it was just the bond of a hyung and dongsaeng. Jungkook was still so young, still figuring out who he was. Seokjin told himself his only job was to support him, to be the rock Jungkook could lean on.
But deep down, a tiny voice whispered that there might be something more.
------
The camaraderie in the practice room felt forced these days. Even Namjoon’s usual jokes about tripping over his own feet during choreography didn’t seem to land the way they used to. Seokjin noticed the way Jungkook lingered at the edges of conversations, his responses clipped and perfunctory, his usual quiet presence now somehow heavier.
At first, Seokjin brushed it off as fatigue. The schedules were grueling—early mornings spent recording, afternoons filled with choreography, and nights endlessly practicing until their bodies begged for rest. But the signs became harder to ignore. Jungkook stopped eating meals with the group, opting instead to take his food to his room. He started wearing his headphones more, retreating into his own world during breaks.
Seokjin tried to keep his focus on being the strong, reliable hyung he’d promised himself he would be. He smiled when the younger members needed reassurance, cracked jokes when the mood dipped, and made sure everyone had what they needed. But when it came to Jungkook, he found himself faltering.
---
One evening, Seokjin lingered outside Jungkook’s door, a plate of freshly cut fruit in his hands. He’d noticed the younger boy hadn’t touched his dinner earlier and thought a snack might cheer him up.
Knocking lightly, he called out, “Jungkookie, can I come in?”
There was a long pause before a muffled “Okay” came from the other side.
Seokjin pushed the door open to find Jungkook sitting cross-legged on his bed, a sketchbook in his lap. His headphones rested around his neck, and the dim light from his desk lamp cast shadows across his face.
“I brought you something,” Seokjin said, holding up the plate.
Jungkook glanced at it but didn’t move to take it. “Thanks,” he muttered, his eyes dropping back to his sketchbook.
Seokjin hesitated, then set the plate on the desk before sitting on the edge of the bed. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing,” Jungkook said quickly, closing the sketchbook and setting it aside.
Not before Seokjin saw the drawing of a face though - Seokjin's face to be precise.
The room fell into an awkward silence, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound.
Seokjin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Jungkook,” he began carefully, “you’ve been really quiet lately. Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jungkook replied automatically, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists on his lap. “I’m fine,” he repeated, more forcefully this time.
Seokjin wanted to push, to tell Jungkook he didn’t have to carry whatever was weighing on him alone. But the tension in the room was palpable, and he knew that pressing too hard would only make Jungkook retreat further.
“Okay,” Seokjin said softly, standing up. “Just...don’t forget we’re here for you, alright?”
Jungkook didn’t respond, and Seokjin left the room feeling helpless.
---
The days stretched into weeks, and the distance between them only grew. Jungkook’s absence at group meals became routine, his laughter a memory. Even during practice, where he usually shone, he seemed distracted, his movements lacking their usual precision.
Seokjin watched from the sidelines, his chest tightening with every missed step and vacant stare. He could see the shadows under Jungkook’s eyes, the slump in his shoulders, the way he flinched whenever someone raised their voice.
One night, as the group sat in the living room unwinding after a long day, Seokjin noticed Jungkook’s absence once again.
“Where’s Jungkookie?” he asked, glancing around.
Taehyung shrugged, his attention on the video game he was playing with Jimin. “Probably in his room.”
Seokjin frowned. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. But every time he tried to approach Jungkook, he was met with the same cold deflection.
---
Jungkook lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His sketchbook sat abandoned on the floor, the pages smudged from restless hands.
He felt like he was drowning, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him until he could barely breathe. Memories of his childhood flickered in his mind—his father’s mocking laughter, his mother’s cold indifference.
He’d thought coming to BigHit would be an escape, a chance to start over. And in many ways, it had been. The members were kind, their bond unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But it also made him realize just how much he’d missed out on. The warmth of a real family, the comfort of unconditional love—it was all so foreign to him.
And Seokjin...
Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thoughts away. He didn’t know what to do with the feelings swirling inside him, the way his chest tightened whenever Seokjin was near. It wasn’t just admiration or gratitude; it was something deeper, something that scared him.
He couldn’t let himself hope for more. Seokjin was perfect—kind, confident, loved by everyone. And Jungkook...he was broken, unworthy of the warmth Seokjin offered so freely.
---
Seokjin sat on the couch that night, his mind racing. He couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine, not when it was so clear that Jungkook was struggling. But every time he tried to reach out, he hit a wall.
Frustrated, he turned to Taehyung, who was scrolling through his phone nearby.
“Taehyung-ah,” he said, catching the younger boy’s attention.
Taehyung looked up, his expression curious. “What’s up, hyung?”
“Can you...keep an eye on Jungkookie?” Seokjin asked, his voice hesitant. “I think he’s going through something, but he won’t talk to me about it.”
Taehyung’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” Seokjin admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Just...let me know if he says anything, alright?”
Taehyung nodded, his expression serious. “I will.”
As Taehyung returned to his phone, Seokjin leaned back against the couch, his chest heavy with worry.
---
Over the next few days, Seokjin watched from a distance as Taehyung and Jungkook grew closer. Taehyung had a way of making people feel at ease, his playful energy coaxing smiles from even the most guarded hearts.
Seokjin couldn’t deny the relief he felt seeing Jungkook laugh again, even if it was faint and fleeting. But there was a small, irrational pang of jealousy that twisted in his chest every time he saw Taehyung’s arm slung casually around Jungkook’s shoulders or heard the younger boy’s quiet chuckle at one of Taehyung’s jokes.
It should be him. It should him to comfort Jungkook, to make him laugh. He used to be that person - so why couldn’t he reach Jungkook anymore?
He told himself it didn’t matter, that all that mattered was Jungkook’s happiness. But late at night, when the dorm was quiet and his thoughts refused to settle, he couldn’t ignore the ache in his heart.
---
The flash of cameras was relentless, bouncing off the polished stage and the tear-streaked faces of the group members. The MAMA stage was as overwhelming as ever—a sea of fans waving light sticks, their screams a tidal wave crashing against the idols who stood under the weight of their expectations.
As Namjoon spoke into the microphone, his voice steady but thick with emotion, the members around him wiped at their faces. It had been a hard year—grueling schedules, personal struggles, and endless moments of self-doubt, even a discussion of disbanding—but here they were, holding the trophy that symbolized their perseverance.
Seokjin clapped a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, offering a small, proud smile. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see Taehyung breaking down, tears spilling freely as he buried his face in his hands.
Jungkook was at his side in an instant. He didn’t hesitate, pulling Taehyung into his arms with a tenderness that sent a ripple through the crowd. The younger boy whispered something in Taehyung’s ear, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.
Seokjin’s stomach churned as the cameras zoomed in on the moment, capturing every tear, every touch, every whispered word. He heard the murmur of the audience, saw the headlines forming in real time.
"Jungkook and Taehyung: A Love Story on Stage?"
---
By the time they returned to the dorms that night, the internet was ablaze with speculation. The hashtags were trending, articles dissecting every glance and gesture between Jungkook and Taehyung flooding the newsfeeds.
Seokjin sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a tight jaw. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He told himself it was the absurdity of the rumors, the way the media twisted innocent moments into scandalous headlines. But deep down, he knew the truth was messier than that.
Every photo of Jungkook holding Taehyung, every comment praising their supposed relationship, felt like a tiny thorn lodged in his chest.
“Hyung, you okay?”
Seokjin looked up to see Namjoon watching him, concern etched across his face.
“Yeah,” Seokjin said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”
Namjoon didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press.
---
The tension in the dorms was palpable over the following weeks. Seokjin found himself snapping at Jungkook more often, his usual playful teasing tinged with an edge that hadn’t been there before.
“Jungkookie, maybe next time try actually hitting the right note during rehearsal,” Seokjin said one day, his tone sharper than he intended.
Jungkook looked up from his plate, his eyes narrowing. “That's rich, coming from you. Maybe next time you could focus on your own parts instead of mine.”
The table fell silent, the other members exchanging uneasy glances. Taehyung reached over to nudge Jungkook, trying to diffuse the situation, but the damage was done.
Seokjin pushed his chair back abruptly, muttering something about needing fresh air before leaving the room.
---
Jungkook wasn’t sure when things had started to change, but he couldn’t ignore the shift in Seokjin’s behavior. The once gentle teasing now felt like thinly veiled criticism, the warm smiles replaced by cold indifference.
At first, Jungkook tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just the stress of their schedules. But the snide comments kept coming, and he found himself lashing out in return.
“Maybe if you spent less time staring at your reflection and more time practicing, we wouldn’t have to redo the choreo five times,” Jungkook shot back one day after Seokjin criticized his timing.
The room went still, the air crackling with tension.
“Watch your mouth, Jungkook,” Seokjin said quietly, his voice low and dangerous.
Jungkook stared him down, his jaw clenched, before turning and walking away.
---
The silence between them stretched on for weeks. They passed each other in the halls without so much as a glance, their conversations reduced to curt exchanges during group activities.
Meanwhile, Jungkook and Taehyung seemed closer than ever. They spent their free time holed up in their room, laughing at inside jokes and sharing playlists. Jungkook found comfort in Taehyung’s easygoing presence, a welcome reprieve from the cold shoulder he was getting from Seokjin.
But Seokjin couldn’t ignore the pang of jealousy that twisted in his gut every time he saw them together. He hated himself for feeling that way, hated the bitterness that crept into his thoughts.
---
Late one night, Seokjin sat in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea. The dorm was quiet, the other members asleep or tucked away in their rooms.
He thought about Jungkook, about the way his eyes had once lit up when Seokjin walked into the room, the way his laughter had been infectious, pulling everyone into his orbit.
He missed that Jungkook, missed the closeness they used to share. But he didn’t know how to fix the mess they’d found themselves in.
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Jungkook standing in the doorway.
They stared at each other for a moment, the silence between them heavy and suffocating.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Seokjin asked finally, his voice strained. He hated the silence. He wanted to fix this.
Jungkook shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah.”
Another beat of silence.
“Goodnight, hyung,” Jungkook said, his tone flat as he turned and walked away.
Seokjin watched him go, the ache in his chest growing heavier with every step, wondering where things had gone wrong.
---
The days had stretched on in painful silence, each one dragging heavier than the last. The tension in the dorm was suffocating, each glance exchanged between Seokjin and Jungkook laced with the sharp sting of words left unsaid. Every encounter, every conversation, felt like walking on glass. Seokjin could feel it, that crackling undercurrent of something raw and unresolved between them.
They'd tried—both of them had tried—but it wasn't enough. There was no escaping the looming, invisible barrier that separated them now. Jungkook had distanced himself, retreating into his shell, and Seokjin couldn’t figure out how to bridge that gap.
It was the rehearsal that set it all off.
They were at the studio, the choreography for their upcoming performance demanding their full attention. But even the music, the beat they were so familiar with, didn’t seem to break the silence that had settled between them. Jungkook was distant, eyes on his feet, his movements robotic. Seokjin could feel his frustration building, each misstep, each lack of synchronization between them cutting deeper than any mistake should have.
It wasn’t the choreography. It never was.
"Focus, Jungkook," Seokjin snapped, his voice colder than he meant it to be. "This isn’t a game."
Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his eyes briefly flickering to Seokjin before he looked away. "I’m trying." His voice was tight, strained, but Seokjin could hear the edge of something else beneath the words.
"Trying? Trying isn’t enough. It’s never been enough."
Jungkook’s head snapped back toward him, a flash of anger in his gaze. "And what exactly do you want me to do, hyung?" The words came out with a rawness that startled Seokjin. "You want me to be perfect? Like you?"
Seokjin’s breath hitched, a feeling of shame curling in his chest. He should have stopped. He should have stepped back. But instead, his words rushed out before he could stop them.
"Perfect? No, I don’t want you to be perfect. I just want you to stop being so damn... broken."
The words landed like a slap, a brutal blow that shattered the fragile veneer of control Seokjin had been clinging to. He saw it in Jungkook’s face—the flinch, the tightening of his jaw, the flicker of hurt that crossed his features before it was quickly masked by something else, something colder.
Jungkook’s voice dropped to a whisper, so quiet that only Seokjin could hear it. "You think I’m broken?"
Seokjin froze. His heart skipped in his chest, but his rage—his need to hurt—was louder than his guilt. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "You want me to lie, then? You want me to say that everything’s fine?"
"Stop," Jungkook’s voice trembled, his body stiffening. "I’m not some project for you to fix."
The accusation stung like a blade, and Seokjin’s eyes burned. But he couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t turn back. The fight had grown too large, had spiraled beyond what either of them had anticipated.
"You’re right," Seokjin spat. "You’re not a project, Jungkook. There is no point in trying to fix you. But you sure as hell have always been a mess, haven’t you? Every time we try to talk, you shut me out. You can’t even handle the smallest thing without running away."
The words fell into the space between them, heavy, suffocating. Jungkook’s face drained of color. His fists clenched at his sides. For a moment, the room was completely still. Then, with a shaky breath, Jungkook’s voice broke. "You have no idea. You think you know me, but you don’t. You don’t know anything."
Seokjin felt the walls closing in. The room, the music, everything vanished into the background. He only heard the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears, the weight of his own words crushing him. But it wasn’t enough. The anger was too deep, too raw. His mouth moved before he could stop it.
"You're right, I don’t know." His voice dropped, low and venomous. "Maybe if you actually let someone help, you wouldn’t be so fucking broken."
Jungkook recoiled, the hurt evident in his eyes. "Fuck you, hyung." His words were laced with venom now. "I don’t need you or your help."
Seokjin didn’t know why he couldn’t stop himself. Every word, every accusation seemed to spill out like poison, biting deep into the fabric of what had once been their bond. He could feel the crack widening between them, feel the fissures that had started to form weeks ago now breaking wide open.
"Stop acting like that!" Seokjin shouted, his voice rising to a fever pitch. "Stop acting like you don’t need anyone, like you don’t need me!"
The air was thick with the weight of their unspoken words. Jungkook stood there, frozen, staring at Seokjin with wide eyes, his breathing shallow. The distance between them felt insurmountable, the emotional space a vast chasm neither of them knew how to cross.
"I never asked you to fix me," Jungkook said, his voice small but firm. "I never needed you to be the one to make everything better."
"Well, maybe I needed to feel like I was doing something," Seokjin shot back, his words laced with desperation. "Maybe I needed to feel like I was enough."
"Hyung...what?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. Neither of them spoke, both of them standing there, staring at each other as if they were strangers, as if they’d never known each other at all.
It was Namjoon who intervened, his voice commanding and urgent. "Enough," he said, stepping between them. His gaze flicked between Seokjin and Jungkook, his expression torn between frustration and concern. "Both of you, shut up."
But it was too late. The words had already been said, and there was no taking them back.
Seokjin didn’t know what came over him, but the need to escape—to leave everything behind, even for just a moment—overwhelmed him. Without another word, he turned and fled from the room.
---
Seokjin didn’t know how he ended up outside. The cold night air hit his face like a slap, but he barely noticed. His hands were trembling, his body shaking with the aftermath of the argument. He didn’t even know where he was going.
Eventually, he found himself in a park near their dorm, the dim streetlights casting long shadows across the empty playground. The swings were empty, swaying gently in the wind. Seokjin collapsed onto one, his hands gripping the cold metal chains, his knees drawn up to his chest.
The tears came then—slowly at first, as if his body had been holding them back for too long. They spilled over, one after the other, as he let the weight of it all crash over him. His chest heaved with sobs, each breath coming out in ragged gasps.
The quiet of the park seemed to echo his pain, the soft creak of the swing the only sound in the darkness. His face was wet, streaked with tears, his hair falling messily around his face. He could barely catch his breath, could barely think through the blur of emotions that clouded his mind.
The city lights flickered in the distance, but they felt miles away.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, crying into the night. He didn’t know how to stop. All the pain, all the words he’d said, came flooding back. He had hurt Jungkook. He had hurt him in the one way he knew would destroy him—by calling him broken. He knew how insecure Jungkook felt about himself.
But Seokjin didn’t think Jungkook was broken. He never had. He just... needed to hurt. Needed to make someone feel what he was feeling.
I am a monster, he thought. Maybe I am the broken one.
He sat there, the tears never stopping, broken in a way that only he could understand.
---
Seokjin couldn’t breathe. His chest was tight, suffocating, and each shallow breath felt like a struggle. The swing beneath him creaked as he rocked back and forth, his body trembling with every exhale. He had never allowed himself to feel so broken. In front of the others, he had been the pillar, the one who always smiled, who shouldered the weight of their group’s success with an easy grace. But now, in the dead of night, all that weight was crushing him. The tears fell without his permission, hot and relentless, staining his cheeks as they dripped onto his lap.
His hands clenched the edges of the swing, gripping it with all the strength he had left. His mind was a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts, too many feelings fighting for his attention all at once. He had never felt so alone. He had never felt so… weak.
How had it come to this? How had his words—his stupid, hurtful words—damaged the one person he cared about most?
The way Jungkook had looked at him during their argument… like he didn’t know how to reach him anymore. Like he couldn’t find his way back to the Seokjin he once knew.
And Seokjin hated himself for it. Hated how easy it had been to lash out, how effortless it was to twist the knife deeper into Jungkook’s already fragile soul. The words that had slipped out in the heat of anger still burned in his memory.
“You’re broken.”
His stomach twisted in agony as he replayed it over and over again. Jungkook had always been so insecure about his past, about the things he carried with him, the scars he tried to hide. Seokjin knew that. So why had he said it? Why had he been so cruel?
He knew Jungkook would never say it, but Seokjin could almost feel the weight of the younger’s silence. He could hear the hurt in Jungkook’s voice, in the way he’d called Seokjin out for being selfish, for always being the one to control everything. It was true. He had always been the strong one, the dependable one. But now, now that his own emotions had betrayed him, he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made.
As the tears continued to fall, Seokjin’s phone buzzed in his pocket, a brief distraction from the overwhelming pain that seemed to consume him. He fumbled for it with trembling hands, pulling it out to see Namjoon’s name on the screen.
-Where are you?-
Seokjin stared at the message for a long moment. He could lie—say he was fine, say he just needed some space. But he wasn’t fine. He couldn’t pretend anymore. His heart ached with a desperation that had nowhere to go.
-Just in the park down the street,- he typed back, his fingers slow and clumsy. -I just need a minute to think.-
He hit send and put the phone back in his pocket, closing his eyes as he leaned back on the swing. It felt like the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders, and he couldn’t carry it anymore.
The night air was still, the distant hum of the city barely audible in the background. The only sounds that reached his ears were his own broken sobs, harsh and uneven. Seokjin was losing control, and he had no idea how to get it back. The pain, the guilt, the confusion—it was all too much. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.
What if I’ve ruined everything?
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. What if he had damaged the one person who had always been there for him? What if Jungkook would never forgive him for what he’d said? What if Seokjin had pushed him away for good?
It was too much.
The swing creaked again as Seokjin’s body rocked back and forth involuntarily, the motion almost soothing in its repetition. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, but they came faster, more violently now. He was beyond trying to hold them back. The pain was too raw, too real.
For a moment, he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. They were soft, tentative, almost hesitant. But Seokjin’s body froze, heart pounding in his chest, as he heard the familiar sound of someone stopping just behind him.
He was too lost in his emotions to turn around, too consumed with his breakdown to realize who it was at first. But then, he heard the voice—low and unsure, full of guilt.
“Hyung…?” Jungkook’s voice cracked, a small tremor running through it, and Seokjin’s heart nearly stopped in his chest.
The younger’s presence hit Seokjin like a tidal wave, and he couldn’t help but turn his head. The sight of Jungkook standing there, drenched in guilt, his eyes wide and filled with regret, was enough to break whatever fragile hold Seokjin had left on his composure.
Without thinking, Seokjin reached out, his hands trembling, his chest tight with pain. “Kook…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Jungkook’s face crumpled at the sight of Seokjin’s tears. His own eyes filled with moisture as he stepped forward, hesitant at first, but then closing the distance between them, sitting down beside Seokjin on the swing.
“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it was clear. His hand trembled as he reached out, brushing it over Seokjin’s arm in a gentle, almost hesitant gesture. “Hyung… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t want to make you feel like this.”
Seokjin swallowed hard, shaking his head. “No, Kook… It’s me. I said things that—things I shouldn’t have said. I’m the one who hurt you.” His voice wavered again, and he couldn’t hold back another sob. “I didn’t mean to… I never meant to…”
Jungkook’s face softened, his own tears slipping down his cheeks as he wiped them away quickly. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know what to say or do to make it better. But he knew one thing, something deep and undeniable that had been building in his chest for so long.
“I’ve been so scared,” Jungkook confessed, his voice breaking. “I was scared to feel anything. I didn’t know how to deal with it. But I… I can’t stand seeing you like this, hyung. You mean so much to me, and I—I don’t want to lose you.”
The words hung between them, heavy and raw. Seokjin’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at Jungkook, his heart pounding in his chest.
Jungkook’s gaze dropped for a moment, his fingers fidgeting nervously. “I—I’ve been hiding it for so long. I didn’t want to burden you with it. But I can’t pretend anymore. I care about you, hyung. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”
The confession came out in a rush, the words tumbling over each other as Jungkook’s voice cracked, his emotions pouring out in a flood. Seokjin’s heart shattered as he saw the vulnerability in Jungkook’s eyes, the way his hands trembled from the weight of everything he had been holding inside.
Seokjin stared at him, unable to speak at first, his mind reeling from the confession. His own emotions felt like a whirlwind, too many feelings colliding in his chest. He had wanted this, hadn’t he? To hear Jungkook say it. To hear the words that he had longed for. But now, with Jungkook’s confession hanging in the air, Seokjin was frozen.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seokjin reached out, his hands trembling as they cupped Jungkook’s face, his thumbs gently wiping away the younger’s tears.
“I’m sorry,” Seokjin whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Kook. I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
Jungkook shook his head, a small, shaky smile tugging at his lips. “It’s okay, hyung. I just—needed you to know.”
The words were simple, but they carried so much weight. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Seokjin allowed himself to feel the full extent of his emotions, the weight of the years of uncertainty and longing, and the relief that came with knowing that Jungkook had felt the same.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
"Just...just think about it, okay?" Jungkook whispered but the look in his eyes were what broke Seokjin. Jungkook thought Seokjin didn’t feel the same way for him.
Wait, Seokjin wanted to say, but no words came.
Jungkook had already turned around and left when Seokjin opened his mouth.
----
Seokjin sat in his room long after Jungkook had left, his thoughts still in a tangled mess. The words Jungkook had said to him in the park kept replaying in his mind. "I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone." He could still hear the rawness in Jungkook's voice, the vulnerability that had cracked through the layers the younger had built up. It was everything Seokjin had wanted to hear, everything he'd longed for, but now it felt like a weight on his chest rather than the relief he’d expected.
How could Jungkook care about him after what he’d done? How could anyone care about him when he was so broken inside, when he couldn’t even control the rage that had poured out of him, the cruel words he’d said?
Seokjin ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands as if to rip out the thoughts that were suffocating him. He couldn’t stop seeing Jungkook’s face, the way his eyes had pleaded for reassurance, for something, for...anything. He hadn’t meant to reject Jungkook, he hadn't meant for it to go so far, but in the end, he had.
The silence between them after that night was deafening. Seokjin didn’t know what to say, what to do. How could he ask for something when he couldn’t even face what he’d done to Jungkook? How could he even think about moving forward when he was still lost in the aftermath of his own rage?
And yet, even knowing all this, Seokjin still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was slipping further and further away from the younger man. He could sense the distance growing again, stretching between them like an invisible chasm that neither of them knew how to cross. It felt final this time.
It was just easier to stay silent. To avoid the conversation that would inevitably break the fragile thread they still held onto.
Seokjin leaned back against the wall of his room, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his exhaustion. He had spent so much time holding everything inside, keeping up appearances, trying to be the stable, dependable one for the group, for Jungkook. But now, everything felt like it was falling apart. And Seokjin didn’t know if he could put it back together.
The days after that night dragged on. Seokjin tried to focus on anything other than Jungkook—on the choreography they were preparing for an upcoming performance, on the interviews and rehearsals that kept him busy. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind always returned to that moment in the park, the way Jungkook had poured his heart out, and the way Seokjin had just… frozen.
He had said nothing in return. Not the words that Jungkook needed to hear. Not the apology. Not the reassurance.
Seokjin still couldn’t forgive himself for how he’d treated Jungkook. He still couldn’t shake the guilt that weighed on him. He had lashed out, pushed Jungkook away, all because of his own fears. His own insecurities. He’d hurt someone who had been nothing but kind, nothing but patient with him. He had torn apart something that had felt real, and now it was too late to fix it.
He didn’t know how to fix himself, either.
When Jungkook had left that night, he had been heartbroken, his eyes filled with something Seokjin couldn’t quite place—disappointment? Hope? Desperation? But Seokjin hadn’t been able to offer anything. He couldn’t offer anything. Not when he was so lost in his own self-doubt. Not when he had failed so spectacularly.
As the days passed, the weight of their silence became more unbearable. Seokjin had tried to reach out—sent a few texts, made a few calls, but each time, Jungkook had either ignored them or responded with short, distant replies. It was clear that the younger was shutting him out. Seokjin couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know how to forgive himself, so how could he expect Jungkook to forgive him?
The group tried to act normal. They had to. They were a team, a family, and they couldn’t let this tear them apart. But Seokjin felt like an imposter. He was pretending, smiling and laughing when all he wanted to do was curl up and disappear.
But then there were moments—small moments—where Seokjin would catch a glimpse of Jungkook. When their eyes would meet across a room or on stage. And even though neither of them said anything, Seokjin could feel the weight of the unspoken words between them. The things neither of them was willing to say.
Seokjin wanted to reach out, wanted to fix it. He didn’t want to lose Jungkook. He didn’t want to lose the one person who had seen him, really seen him, in a way that no one else had. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he had figured himself out. Not until he was sure he wouldn’t hurt Jungkook again.
He was still too broken. Still too raw. He couldn’t let Jungkook see him like this. Not again. Not after everything.
And so, the silence stretched on.
Seokjin found himself withdrawing even more, retreating into himself. He stayed away from Jungkook, avoided the moments where they might have to speak. Every time they were in the same room, there was this… heaviness. A weight that neither of them could shake.
For a while, it seemed like Jungkook was getting by without him. He still had Taehyung, still had the other members of the group, and he seemed fine. But Seokjin knew. He knew it wasn’t fine. He could see it in the way Jungkook’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. In the way he became quieter, more withdrawn.
It hurt to watch, but Seokjin couldn’t bring himself to reach out. He didn’t deserve to. He didn’t deserve to fix things when he had broken them so completely.
But then, one night, when Seokjin was alone in his room, there was a knock on his door. He froze, staring at the door as if he could somehow wish the sound away. It was late, and everyone else had already gone to bed.
He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to face anyone, especially not Jungkook.
But the knock came again, louder this time.
Seokjin stood up slowly, heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what to expect. Didn’t know what he could say. But there was something in the back of his mind—something deep inside that told him he couldn’t keep hiding.
He opened the door.
Jungkook stood in the hallway, his eyes searching Seokjin’s face, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Jungkook spoke, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Hyung… I think we need to talk.”
Seokjin’s heart sank.
But he didn’t say no. He didn’t step back.
Instead, he just nodded, his throat tight.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” Seokjin whispered.
And that was all he could say.
He wanted to say more, to tell Jungkook everything he felt, but the pain was too overwhelming, silencing him, choking him.
---
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the desk lamp in the corner. The sheets on Seokjin’s bed were tangled around his legs, the weight of them pressing down on him, but it felt like nothing compared to the pressure inside his chest. He had tried to ignore it, tried to drown it out with rehearsals and schedules, but tonight, it was suffocating him. The walls of his room closed in on him, but it wasn’t the space that felt small—it was him.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his hands clenched together in his lap. His eyes were bloodshot from trying to keep it together, from pretending that everything was fine. But the tears came anyway, falling down his face without warning, the dam breaking when he least expected it. Seokjin wasn’t sure how long he had been crying, but it felt like hours. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and each breath felt like it was being pulled from the depths of some dark pit he couldn’t escape.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
He didn’t want to be weak. He didn’t want to show anyone that he was breaking. He had always been the strong one, the one who held the group together, the one who was supposed to know how to fix things. But now, everything was falling apart, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
The door to his room creaked open, and Seokjin froze, his breath catching in his throat. He knew it was Jungkook before he even heard his voice.
“Hyung…” Jungkook’s voice was low, tentative, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should enter or turn back.
Seokjin didn’t respond, his face still buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking as the sobs wracked his body. He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to face Jungkook, didn’t want him to see this, didn’t want to admit just how much he was hurting.
But Jungkook didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He walked over to the bed, his eyes fixed on Seokjin, and sat down beside him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Jungkook sat there, his presence comforting yet overwhelming.
“Hyung…” Jungkook said again, his voice softer this time, almost like a plea. “What’s wrong? You don’t have to keep it inside. You don’t have to be alone.”
Seokjin squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, but it didn’t stop the tears. The truth—his truth—was too much to bear. Too much to admit, even to Jungkook.
“I… I don’t know how to fix this, Jungkook,” Seokjin whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. “I’ve tried to hold it together, but I’m just so scared. I’m scared of losing you. I'm scared of hurting you again. I’m scared of what this—what we—could mean for everything. Our careers, the group, the fans… What if it ruins everything?”
Jungkook’s eyes softened as he watched Seokjin, the weight of his words sinking in. Seokjin hadn’t realized how much he was carrying until now, how much fear had been eating away at him, each moment that passed. It wasn’t just about his relationship with Jungkook. It was everything—his insecurities, his anxieties, the pressure of being the oldest, the leader.
Seokjin took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “I can’t lose you. I don’t think I could handle it if things don’t work out between us. I… I can’t even think about what the others would say, about what would happen to us if anyone found out. It’s just too much.”
Jungkook’s heart ached as he watched Seokjin crumble. The weight of Seokjin’s vulnerability hit him hard, but it also gave him a sense of clarity. For so long, Jungkook had been unsure of how to help, unsure of what to say to Seokjin, but now, he understood. Seokjin was just as scared as he was. He had been carrying this burden alone, unable to share it, and now it was all spilling out.
Jungkook gently reached out, placing a hand on Seokjin’s back. The older man flinched slightly at the touch, but Jungkook didn’t pull away. Instead, he kept his hand there, a steady presence in the chaos.
“You’re not alone, hyung,” Jungkook said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re not alone in this, and I’m not going anywhere. I know things are complicated, and I know you’re scared, but we can figure this out. Together.”
Seokjin looked up at Jungkook, his eyes red and swollen, his face a mess of raw emotion. The sincerity in Jungkook’s words made his heart ache even more. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that everything would be okay, but the fear was still there, gnawing at him.
“I… I don’t know if I can do this, Jungkook. I don’t know if I can be what you need,” Seokjin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jungkook shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to be perfect, hyung. You don’t have to have all the answers. I don’t need you to be anything but you. And right now, I just need you to be honest with me.”
Seokjin’s chest tightened. He wanted to be honest, wanted to tell Jungkook everything—the pain, the fear, the doubts. But something still held him back.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” Jungkook said quietly, as if testing the waters. “I’ve been working on myself, hyung. I want to be the best version of myself for you. I want to be someone who can support you, not just with words, but with actions, too.”
Seokjin blinked, surprised by the admission. “You’ve been… seeing a therapist?”
Jungkook nodded. “Yeah. It’s helping me. I’ve learned a lot about myself, about my past, about why I act the way I do. And I think it’s helping me understand what I need to do, not just for me, but for us. I want to share some of it with you, hyung. So maybe… maybe you can start working through things too.”
Seokjin listened carefully, the vulnerability in Jungkook’s voice striking him. He wasn’t sure why Jungkook was sharing this, but it felt like a turning point. It felt like something was shifting between them, something real and raw.
Jungkook continued, “You don’t have to carry this alone, hyung. You don’t have to hide it. I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to be scared anymore. We’ll figure it out.”
Seokjin nodded slowly, the weight of Jungkook’s words settling in. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of hope. It wasn’t the hope that everything would be perfect right away, but the hope that they could work through it. That maybe, just maybe, they could find their way through the darkness.
“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” Seokjin whispered, his voice cracking with the apology he had been holding in for so long. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Jungkook’s eyes softened as he placed a hand on Seokjin’s cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the last of Seokjin’s tears. “I know, hyung. I know. And I’m sorry, too. For not being able to see it sooner, for not understanding what you were going through.”
They sat there in silence for a long moment, the weight of their shared understanding hanging in the air. There were no more words needed, not for now. They didn’t have all the answers, but they had each other. And that was enough for the moment.
Seokjin’s chest felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted, even though he knew the road ahead would still be difficult. But he wasn’t alone anymore. And that made all the difference.
“I’m scared, Jungkook,” Seokjin admitted softly, his voice barely audible. “But I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want to try. I want to work through this. With you.”
Jungkook smiled, a quiet but genuine smile.
“We’ll take it one step at a time, hyung."
---
The air was crisp, sharp with the remnants of winter as Jungkook waited outside Seokjin's room, his fingers tapping nervously against the cold metal of the doorframe. He had tried to play it cool, tried to give Seokjin space after their emotional conversation, but the truth was, he couldn't stop thinking about him. They had made progress, sure, but Jungkook knew there was still so much more to repair, so much more that needed to be said.
Jungkook had spent the past few days focusing on one thing—showing Seokjin that he could be trusted. The silence between them had been unbearable at first, but now, it was different. They were both walking on eggshells, but Jungkook was determined to move forward. He wasn’t going to force Seokjin into anything, but he knew this wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight. He had to show, through actions, not words, that he was someone Seokjin could lean on, someone who wouldn’t break him.
The door creaked open slightly, and Seokjin appeared, still in his hoodie, looking as tired as ever but with something in his eyes—something softer. It wasn’t the sharpness of the man who had yelled at him weeks ago, the man who had hurt him. It was the Seokjin that Jungkook remembered—the one who had supported him all those years ago, the one who cared more deeply than anyone realized.
“Jungkook,” Seokjin greeted, his voice steady but tentative. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to grab some coffee or something,” Jungkook said, forcing the nerves out of his voice. “I know things have been… a bit complicated lately, but I thought maybe we could talk. Just, you know, be us again.”
Seokjin stared at him for a moment, then sighed softly. He nodded, pulling his hoodie tighter around his frame as he stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him. “Yeah, sure. I could use some coffee.”
The walk to the café was quiet, neither of them rushing to fill the silence. They weren’t uncomfortable, but there was an unspoken understanding between them now. They were both trying. Trying to heal. Trying to rebuild.
The small café they went to had become a favorite spot over the years—quiet, cozy, with just the right amount of bustle. Jungkook ordered their usual, and they sat down at a corner table, sipping their drinks slowly.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Seokjin began, breaking the silence at last. His eyes were focused on his coffee, his fingers curling around the cup. “About working on myself.”
Jungkook nodded, his gaze softening as he listened. He had never expected Seokjin to take it lightly, but hearing him admit it aloud was something else. “Yeah, me too. I’ve been seeing my therapist more frequently lately. I think it’s helping, but it’s not easy. It takes time.”
Seokjin looked up at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I think I might start seeing someone too. I don’t think I’ve really… dealt with everything I’ve been carrying. The fear. The anger. The doubts. It’s all been building up, and it’s not something I can ignore anymore.”
Jungkook’s heart warmed at the admission. Seokjin, the man who had always been the strongest, the one who had taken care of everyone else, was now finally looking at himself. It wasn’t a small thing. He knew how difficult it must have been to admit that to himself, let alone say it out loud.
Jungkook leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m glad to hear that, hyung. It’s not about fixing everything right away. I get it. We’re both… we’ve got a lot to work through. But I’m here. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
Seokjin’s eyes softened as he met Jungkook’s gaze, his fingers tapping against the edge of his cup. “I don’t deserve you, you know that? After everything I said… everything I did…”
“You didn’t deserve any of that,” Jungkook interrupted softly. “I know you didn’t mean it. You were just angry. You didn’t have to apologize for that. I know you didn’t want to hurt me.”
Seokjin was quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. “But I hurt you anyway. I said the things I knew would get to you… because I was scared. I was scared of you leaving. Of what it would mean to let myself feel for you the way I do.”
Jungkook’s breath hitched, and his pulse quickened as Seokjin’s words settled into the silence between them. The unspoken truth hung there, heavy and raw.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jungkook whispered, his voice filled with conviction. “Not if you don’t want me to. I just… I need to show you that. I need to be better for you, hyung. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this.”
Seokjin swallowed, his eyes glistening. He looked away briefly, wiping his hand over his face before shaking his head. “I don’t know how to trust myself or anyone anymore. After everything. I just don’t know how.”
Jungkook took a deep breath, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. The words came to him slowly, but they were true. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”
Seokjin looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in what felt like forever. There was something fragile in his gaze, like a piece of him that had been locked away was slowly beginning to crack open. The weight of the past, of all the hurt they had carried, seemed to hang in the air around them, but there was a possibility now—just a glimmer—that they could move forward.
They sat in silence for a while, the quiet comfort between them settling like a familiar warmth. Jungkook had no idea where things were going, but for the first time, he felt a sense of hope.
As the evening wore on, Seokjin’s smile returned, though it was softer than before. “I think I might need more than just a little coffee to get me through this.”
Jungkook chuckled. “We’ll start with that. Then maybe dinner next time. And maybe even a movie. Who knows? We can figure it out as we go.”
Seokjin shook his head but laughed quietly, the sound so rare and genuine that it made Jungkook’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed, smiling warmly. “But I’m your idiot.”
The rest of the evening passed quietly, and when it was time to leave, Jungkook felt something between them shift. It wasn’t grand, and it wasn’t perfect. But it was something. He didn’t need to have all the answers, didn’t need everything to be fixed in one night. They still had their struggles ahead, but for the first time in a long time, Jungkook felt like they were on the right path.
The next few weeks weren’t easy, but they felt… different. Jungkook kept his promise to himself, focusing on small steps to rebuild the trust between him and Seokjin. They had more coffee dates, more quiet conversations about their fears and their pasts. The silence that once stretched between them no longer felt so suffocating. There were still moments of tension, moments when their words didn’t quite reach the other, but they were learning.
And then came the first real date.
It wasn’t anything extravagant. It was a simple walk through the city, grabbing street food, talking about their favorite memories, laughing like they used to before everything became so complicated. But it meant everything. The weight of it, the quiet shift in their relationship, couldn’t be ignored.
Jungkook took Seokjin’s hand, tentatively at first, as if he wasn’t sure if he had permission. But Seokjin didn’t pull away. Instead, he squeezed his hand back, his fingers warm against Jungkook’s. That small, simple gesture felt like more than anything he could have hoped for.
They didn’t need to say anything. Everything was in the way Seokjin looked at him, the way their hands fit together, the way their smiles came so easily now. It wasn’t perfect—nothing ever was—but it was a start.
And Jungkook was determined to keep taking those steps. One foot in front of the other.
As the weeks went on, Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting for something. Maybe it was the moment when Seokjin would finally say he was ready, when the pain and the fear and the insecurities would melt away and they would step into something more. But until then, Jungkook was patient. He knew it was worth waiting for.
One night, as they walked back from another quiet dinner, Seokjin stopped in front of their building, his hand still holding onto Jungkook’s.
“Jungkook,” Seokjin said quietly, his voice steady but carrying an unfamiliar weight. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
Jungkook paused, looking at Seokjin’s face. His eyes were soft but determined, the kind of expression that usually meant something important was coming.
“What’s on your mind, hyung?”
Seokjin hesitated, then let out a long breath. “I don’t think I’ve really… apologized for what I said. For everything. And I know you’ve been patient with me. But I need to tell you this, because I don’t want us to go forward with any more of this unspoken stuff between us.”
Jungkook’s heart raced in his chest, but he squeezed Seokjin’s hand gently. “It’s okay. I told you before, you don’t have to apologize for everything.”
“I’m not just apologizing for what I said,” Seokjin continued, his voice a little shaky now. “I’m apologizing for the way I treated you, for pushing you away when I should have been there. For not trusting you like I should have. For not trusting myself.”
Jungkook blinked, surprised at the depth of Seokjin’s words. “You don’t have to do this, hyung. I know.”
“No, I do,” Seokjin insisted. “Because I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes, and I don’t want you to think you’re the one at fault.”
Jungkook stepped closer, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t name. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. We’re in this together. You don’t have to fix yourself alone.”
Seokjin’s gaze softened, and he let out a small, almost relieved chuckle. “I think I’m starting to believe that.”
And for the first time in a long time, Jungkook felt like they were on the verge of something real. Something that wouldn’t break, something that could stand strong through whatever came next.
And that was enough.
---
The road ahead would still be long, but they were ready to walk it, side by side.
Seokjin stretched out on the couch, letting out a deep sigh as he threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling. It had been a long day filled with rehearsals, meetings, and the usual grind. But now, he was home. Well, not just home—he was with Jungkook. And that made all the difference.
Jungkook was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking over the ingredients they'd picked up earlier. He was humming a tune, clearly lost in thought as he sorted through the items. Seokjin grinned, watching him. There was something so endearing about Jungkook when he was in his own little world like this, so focused on something simple, like preparing dinner.
"Are you seriously going to try cooking again?" Seokjin teased, raising an eyebrow. "Last time, you nearly set the kitchen on fire."
Jungkook shot him a playful glare but couldn’t hide the amusement in his eyes. "I told you, I’m getting better! That was a fluke."
"A fluke?" Seokjin laughed. "Kook, you almost burned down the rice cooker. It was an explosion, not a fluke."
Jungkook laughed along with him, rolling up his sleeves and moving closer to the stove. "Okay, but this time is different. I’ve been practicing, I promise. And if anything goes wrong, you can just order us some pizza."
Seokjin smirked, watching as Jungkook focused intently on chopping vegetables. He’d always admired how determined Jungkook was when it came to things he cared about. It was one of the many reasons Seokjin had fallen for him in the first place.
"I don’t know..." Seokjin mused. "I'm not sure I trust you enough with my stomach yet. I’ve had enough of those ‘creative experiments.’"
Jungkook shot him a mock hurt expression, and Seokjin immediately laughed, his heart swelling at the sight. It felt so natural to be here, together, like nothing could touch them now.
“Fine, fine, but you better at least try it,” Jungkook said with a dramatic sigh, focusing back on the task at hand.
Seokjin leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. He could hear Jungkook talking to himself as he cooked, making little mutterings of encouragement. It was so domestic, so normal in the best way possible, and it filled Seokjin with an unfamiliar sense of peace.
"You know, I never thought we’d get here," Seokjin said after a long pause, his voice quiet but full of meaning.
Jungkook turned his head, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah?"
Seokjin nodded, feeling a warmth spread through him as he thought back on everything that had happened—the silence, the pain, the mistakes, and now, this. They had come so far.
“I mean, look at us," Seokjin continued. "I was an idiot, you were an idiot, and now we’re cooking dinner and cracking jokes like we’ve got everything figured out.”
Jungkook snorted, clearly amused. "We are idiots, but at least we’re idiots together."
Seokjin's heart skipped a beat at the words. He chuckled, shaking his head, but inside, he couldn’t deny the truth in them. They’d been through so much—fights, misunderstandings, silence—but here they were. He didn’t need everything to be perfect. All he needed was Jungkook. The rest could follow.
"Just don't burn the kitchen down this time," Seokjin added, trying to keep his tone light despite the growing lump in his throat.
Jungkook rolled his eyes playfully. "Okay, okay. You’re never letting me live that down, are you?"
Seokjin smiled. "Not in a million years."
A comfortable silence settled between them as Jungkook worked on the meal, and Seokjin's thoughts wandered. The stress of the past seemed to have melted away, replaced by this quiet, content feeling. It had taken a long time to get here, but it had been worth every moment.
Seokjin watched Jungkook as he finished up with the last dish, and as Jungkook turned to place the plate in front of him, Seokjin was taken aback by the way his heart still raced when he saw him. He had always known that Jungkook was special, but now, after everything they had been through, it felt like a treasure he had finally realized he couldn’t take for granted.
They sat down to eat, the clink of utensils on plates the only sound between them for a while. Seokjin took a bite of the food, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected taste. It wasn’t perfect—there were still a few burnt bits—but it wasn’t bad at all.
“Well, I can tell you didn’t burn the rice,” Seokjin said after swallowing, giving Jungkook a teasing smile. “I’m impressed.”
Jungkook’s face lit up with a grin. "You’re REALLY impressed?"
Seokjin nodded dramatically, holding his hand to his chest. "I think we can call this a gourmet meal."
Jungkook laughed, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They ate in silence for a while, the meal passing more easily than either of them expected. The tension that had once been so thick between them seemed to dissipate, replaced by the warmth of shared comfort.
As they finished, Jungkook leaned back in his chair, giving a satisfied sigh. "I think I’ve earned my gold star today."
"You’ll get it," Seokjin said with a smirk. "Maybe not a gold one, though. I’m saving that for when you don’t burn your next meal."
“Next time, I’ll make you my secret signature dish,” Jungkook said, his voice lowering into a teasing tone. “You’ll be begging for seconds.”
Seokjin raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "Oh really? And what’s your secret dish, hm?"
Jungkook leaned closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s a surprise,” he said with a wink. “You’ll see.”
Seokjin chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re incorrigible."
They both stood up, cleaning up the kitchen together. As they worked, they continued talking about everything and nothing—about the next vacation they would take, about a silly idea for a new album concept, and about how they’d never let the world get in the way of what they had built together.
Finally, as they finished washing the dishes, Seokjin looked at Jungkook and smiled, an all-consuming warmth filling his chest.
“You know,” Seokjin said, his voice soft, “this... this is everything I need.”
Jungkook froze for a moment, then met his eyes. His expression softened, and he placed the dish he was drying down, his hands moving to rest on Seokjin’s waist. He leaned in, brushing his lips against Seokjin’s.
“I’ll always be here,” Jungkook whispered, his voice full of sincerity. "We’ve got this. Together."
Seokjin’s heart skipped a beat, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a peace he never thought he could find. They had come through the darkness, had fought their battles, but now—here, in this moment, with Jungkook—he felt like they were finally where they belonged.
"I love you, Jungkook," Seokjin whispered.
Jungkook’s eyes softened as he pulled Seokjin into an embrace, his arms warm around him. "I love you too, hyung."
And that was it. They didn’t need grand declarations or perfect words. They didn’t need to fix everything at once. All they needed was each other. In the quiet moments, in the shared glances, and in the comfort of their love, they had everything they needed.
Together, they were unstoppable.
And that, for now, was enough.